


A Bitter Pill

by spectacledotter



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, M/M, Quest, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectacledotter/pseuds/spectacledotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke and party enter the Holding Caves to find an old nemesis of Fenris's, only to find someone else as well. (Implied relationship but neither obvious nor explicit, tagged anyway to cover bases)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bitter Pill

The Holding Caves, an abandoned slavers’ refuge, sounded like a ruined pit of death and torment to Oliver, and he was not disappointed. He said as much as they entered.

“Poetic,” said Fenris sardonically.

“It’s not untrue,” said Sebastian, looking about the dim room. “Is that a corpse on the table?”

Merrill examined it. “A … sacrifice. I can feel the ritual’s magic residue.”

“The legacy of the magisters,” grumbled Fenris.

“It’s fresh--they sacrifice the unwilling,” said Merrill in growing horror.

“Is that so shocking? You’re only a step away from it yourself,” said Fenris.

“That’s _not true_ ,” she protested.

“Believe what you like,” spat Fenris. “In my experience, mages will go to any lengths to justify their need for power.”

“Not unlike politicians,” commented Oliver, making Sebastian chuckle. Fenris ignored him and pressed on down the dark hallway. Merrill trailed along behind the men.

“I’ve never sacrificed anyone but myself,” Oliver heard her mutter.

Spiders, slavers, and skeletons attacked them, but they prevailed and pushed ahead. Fenris was particularly ferocious against anything in Tevinter armour. A mage in purple robes managed to lure him onto a pressure plate.

Oliver turned at Fenris’s yelp of pain and saw a jet of fire coming down from the ceiling, right over the plate. The elf managed to leap out of the way before collapsing into the wall.

The mage prepared to finish him off, only to be frozen in place by Merrill. Sebastian took the opportunity, and the next second, the enemy mage was down, an arrow through his ears.

Oliver was at Fenris’s side in an instant, creation magic in his hands. “Honestly, Fen,” he chastised the elf gently as he healed the burns, “you need to watch for traps. You’re not fireproof.”

“My apologies,” said Fenris, wincing. “I’m…”

“We’ll find her, Fenris,” said Oliver quietly, but firmly. He passed his hand over the glowing markings on Fenris’s neck and shoulders, easing the pain there.

Fenris watched his friend’s hands. No mage had ever been so gentle with him--none but Oliver. Even after three years of friendship, Oliver’s soothing touch surprised him. And, though he was loathe to admit it to anyone including himself, it aroused him as well.

As Oliver worked on Fenris, Sebastian checked the doors for traps and Merrill went through the pockets of the slavers. She was kneeling near the darkest corner, counting out the sovereigns in one man’s purse, when she heard a little gasp. Tucking a strand of long, black hair behind her pointed ear, she narrowed her eyes towards the corner. “Is someone there? Come on out.”

A young elven girl, no more than twelve or thirteen, crawled out of her hiding place. “Y-you’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

“No,” Merrill reassured her. “Don’t be afraid, da’len.”

The girl’s cheeks were tear-stained and her eyes were bloodshot. Her hands and feet were filthy and there was blood in her blonde hair. Fenris looked over from the nearby wall and his blue eyes widened. “Oh no.” He was on his feet and kneeling before the girl before Oliver could stop him. “Are you hurt? Did they touch you?”

“Th-they’ve been killing everyone!” sobbed the girl, tears flowing again. “They cut Papa, bled him!”

“Why?” asked Fenris, frowning. “Why would they do this?”

“No wonder the Maker abandoned his children,” said Sebastian quietly.

“The magister,” said the girl, “she said she needed power, that someone was coming to kill her.”

It was rare to see Fenris looked ashamed, but he lowered his head, staring at his hands. Oliver put a reassuring hand between his shoulderblades, but he didn’t take his eyes off the poor girl.

“We tried to be good, we did everything we were told! She loved Papa’s soup, I don’t understand,” the girl cried.

Oliver held his handkerchief out to her. She looked down at it uncertainly, her hand out for it but hesitant. “It’s all right,” he said gently, “you can have it.” She took it and wiped her eyes. “Is the magister still here?” he asked.

“I--I think so,” she said. “The magister said they were to prepare for battle. I think she’s very frightened.”

“She has every reason to be,” growled Fenris.

“Please don’t kill her!” said the girl fearfully. “She’ll be so angry if you kill her!”

Oliver suddenly gathered her into his arms like a father, letting her sob into his shoulder. “This has been terrible for you,” he murmured.

“Everything was fine until today!” she said, muffled by Oliver’s greatcoat.

“It wasn’t,” said Fenris quietly, “you just … didn’t know any better.”

She looked up at Oliver, then Fenris. “Are you my master now?”

“No!” said Fenris quickly.

“But I can cook, I can clean!” she protested. “What else will I do?”

Oliver released her, but he kept his hands on her shoulders. “Do you know where Kirkwall is?” She nodded. “Go there and ask a guard to direct you to the Hawke Estate, in Hightown. I’ll take you in. Tell Bodahn you’re the new maid. All right?”

For the first time, she smiled. “Praise the Maker! Thank you!”

Oliver smiled back. “Do you have a name?”

“Orana,” she said.

“The way to the entrance should be clear for you. I’ll meet you at home as soon as I can.”

Orana gave Oliver a hug and Fenris a smile, and then she hurried off down the hall. Oliver stood and watched her go with a smile.

Fenris, however, was displeased. “I didn’t realize you were in the market for a slave!” he snapped.

“Slave?” repeated Oliver in disbelief. “Fenris, if I’d just given her some coin and sent her off, she’d get robbed within the hour. You saw how thin she was--if she works for me, I can keep her fed, clothed, and safe, and she can make her own money to start a life of her own. As a _servant_. I gave her a job, Fenris.”

“Oh,” said Fenris, looking rather sheepish. “Well, then. That’s good.”

Sebastian chuckled. “A very kind gesture, Hawke.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “You really think I’d take in a slave, Fenris? I thought you knew me better than that.”

“I’m sorry,” sighed Fenris. “I do know you better. Now let’s go, Hadriana needs to answer for this.”

They turned down the next passage to Hadriana. At the other end of the Caves, Orana looked at the crest embroidered on the handkerchief her new master had given her, not yet realising he had also given her freedom, and smiled. “Thank you, Papa,” she whispered, and hurried on her way to a new life in Kirkwall.


End file.
